


All the World's A Stage for Death

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Lasers!, Misses Clause Challenge, Yuletide, Yuletide 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:10:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Georgie and Simms investigate a strangely absent theater owner and his mysterious new producers while Adam Adamant is away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the World's A Stage for Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemo_the_Everbeing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemo_the_Everbeing/gifts).



> Thank you to my betas--you know who you are!--and to #yuletide for always being supportive.

Georgie pushed past Simms and into Adam's flat. "So is he back yet?"

"I'm afraid not, miss, and as such you have no reason to be here," Simms told her. "Good day."

"Now, really," Georgie said. She could tell Simms was worried. There wasn't a speck of dust in the place, not that there ever was, but he had his feather duster out and was fussing over all the knickknacks and wotsits on the shelves in an aimless motion. "Two days he's been gone and not a word? He must be in trouble."

"I hardly think so, Miss Jones," Simms said. "And in any case, it's not likely to be anything Mr. Adamant can't handle."

"Well, if he's not here to complain, I'll just put my feet up and wait for him to return," Georgie said. She picked a seat on Adam's sofa and put her feet up on the arm. Simms scowled at her and poked her feet with the feather duster until she put them down again. "Oh, really, why don't we go and look for him?"

"My responsibilities as Mr. Adamant's valet do not involve charging off bullheadedly to the rescue," Simms said, "And your responsibility as nuisance only extends to staying out of the way."

Georgie was about to snap something back when she heard the lift start working. "Oh, good, he's back," she said, and darted back out into the foyer before Simms could get there.

The door opened, and Georgie opened her mouth to greet Adam, but froze. Instead of the tall, elegant frame of the Edwardian gentleman, there was a Japanese woman, slightly smaller than Georgie herself, eyes wide. "... Adam Adamant?" the Japanese woman asked.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Georgie said by reflex. "I don't speak Japanese."

The woman blinked, taken aback, then said in an American accent, "Don't worry, our countries might be divided by a common language, but I can understand you well enough."

Georgie felt like she was blushing down to her toenails. "Oh, I... I'm terribly sorry. Yes, this is Adam Adamant's residence, but he's not in at the moment. I'm Georgina Jones, but you can call me Georgie."

The woman's mouth quirked in a disappointed moue. "My name's Miko Nakamura," she said. "But you can call me Mickey. Is Mr. Adamant going to be back soon?"

"What seems to be the trouble, miss?" Simms said over Georgie's shoulder. Georgie jumped, then scowled at him.

Mickey's shoulders were slumping, but she pulled herself upright and looked Simms in the face. "May I come in? I need Mr. Adamant's help."

Georgie's brain started ticking. Sure, Mr. Adamant wasn't there, but who said he had to get first crack at all the adventures? "Of course you can come in," she said. "Simms, why don't you get some tea and biscuits, and Mickey can tell us what's gone wrong? That way we can get the easy bits sorted for when Adam gets back."

Mickey looked out of place in the cluttered Edwardian sitting room, but no more than Georgie did. She'd been wearing a long coat against the autumn chill, but underneath she was dressed in a striped sweater and gray trousers, and while she didn't like milk in her tea she took sugar just like normal and didn't complain that it was black and not green or something. Really, Georgie was starting to get annoyed at herself for expecting different.

"So why are you looking for Mr. Adamant?" Georgie asked after they'd fortified themselves.

Mickey set her tea down and looked pensive. "I've been trying to find a man here in London. His name is Colonel John Mayfair."

"Colonel John Mayfair?" Simms repeated, surprised.

Georgie turned to look up at him, startled. "You know him, Simms?"

"I know of him, miss," Simms prevaricated. "He owns a theater in the West End, and invests in several other properties besides. Auditioned for him, once, for a Gilbert and Sullivan revue. He didn't like my vibrato."

"Well, I don't much care for it, either," Georgie said as though she knew what he was talking about. "So what do you want with a theater owner?"

Mickey looked rueful. "Well, it's not just theater he invests in. Here, let me start at the beginning." She put her cup down and took a deep breath. Georgie leaned forward.

"My father," Mickey said, "John Nakamura, was a sergeant in the 442nd regiment, in the army during the war. He saved Colonel Mayfair's life on the Gothic Line. The colonel promised that he'd help my father out, after the war, if they both survived." She took another breath. "After my father got home and we got out of the camp, my father's old business exporting fruit was completely gone, so he started over learning about vacuum tubes and computer components. He's got a shop in Colma--" at what must have been a blank look from Georgie, she smiled. "That's just outside of San Francisco. Anyway, he wanted to talk to Colonel Mayfair about financing, and about exporting to England. But all his letters have gone unanswered."

"Well," Georgie offered, "Maybe he's changed address."

"Maybe he changed addresses," Mickey said, "And left no forwarding instructions, and never tried to get in touch with my father. But I came out here to find him anyway. And he's still living there, in a big old house in central London, but his housekeeper told me off when I tried to visit. Said if I came sniffing 'round again she'd beat me with her broom."

Simms sniffed. "What poor manners in such an august profession."

Mickey smirked. "Well, I managed to get a pretty good look at the house. He's there, all right. And every weekday he goes off to his theater."

"Oh, well, that's easy, then," Georgie said. "All we need to do is pop round to that theater and find out why he's avoiding you."

Mickey shook her head. "Tried that already," she said. "He's not anywhere I could get to in the front office, and the whole place is locked down except for the actors. And everyone was really picky about who they let in and who you could talk to. I couldn't find out too much. So when I read an article about Adam Adamant in the paper, I... well, I decided to come ask for help." Mickey tilted her head and looked slightly woeful.

"Well, all right, then," Georgie said brightly. "We'll just have to get hired as actors."

Simms frowned at her. "One doesn't just get hired as an actor, one needs to audition properly."

"Oh don't you think I could be an actress, Simms?" Georgie threw her hair back and fluttered her eyelashes. "I'd be very good. You could give me lessons!"

"Shouldn't we wait for Mr. Adamant to return?" Simms said, but his dyspeptic expression was starting to soften.

"Well, you can stay if you want, Simms," Georgie said. "But I'm going to have a look around. And I know plenty enough about the theater to get a look in."

"You'd do better to have an expert along," Simms said, then sighed. "Which means me, I suppose. Very well."

"You just want a chance to give him another chance on your vibrato," Georgie teased.

Mickey looked back and forth from one of them to the other. "Where is Mr. Adamant?" she asked.

"He's out investigating on another matter, very hush-hush," Simms said. "It shouldn't take him long, but in case he returns while we're out I shall leave him a note."

"Admit it, Simms," Georgie said. "You're excited."

"I shall never admit such a thing," Simms said. "Don't worry, Miss Nakamura, we'll soon get to the bottom of this."

* * *

Georgie was very good at getting people to hire her. So when they discovered that Colonel Mayfair was producing dinner theater, Georgie got herself hired on as a waitress while Simms hit the audition.

"So what do you want me to do?" Mickey asked.

"You keep watch outside," Georgie said. "Can you wait in that cafe over there? If I find something I'll give you a signal."

"Sounds good," Mickey said.

Georgie was given the job of setting up the tables, so she was fussing with forks and napkins while Simms was up on the stage trying to impress Colonel Mayfair. The colonel was a broad-faced and broad-figured man who was smoking a Turkish cigar and wincing at his kidneys as Simms worked through his patter. More interesting were the two people sitting next to him, a man and a woman, rail-thin, black-haired, and stony-faced. While the colonel was making various unimpressed noises, the two of them didn't move a muscle.

"Who are those two, then?" Georgie asked her supervisor, a grim-faced German woman named Heidi.

"Those are the producers of the show. Money," Heidi said. "They're a husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Greenway."

Georgie gave the two another look. "They look more like brother and sister to me."

"Don't let them hear you say that," Heidi advised. "They've thrown out half the acts that come in here. Looking for something particular."

"Well, it looks like they haven't found it in this guy," Georgie said, trying not to sound too sympathetic to poor old Simms.

"There once was a quartet from Liverpool  
Whose music made girls and boys act the fool..."

Georgie winced. "Oh, I don't think social commentary's his thing."

"Get on, then," Heidi said.

She worked her way back around to the front of the stage, trying to get a better look at the Greenways. In fact, she was looking so hard she missed where she was stepping, and right in the dead silence after one of Simms' jokes she slipped on a discarded napkin.

Her shriek rang out across the hall, and as she fell her leg kicked up and her shoe came right off, sailed over the tables and onto the stage, where Simms caught it near the conclusion of its arc. He gave it a glance and said deadpan, "Oh dear, I seem to have missed Cinderella by a dance."

Colonel Mayfair burst out laughing, a round, hearty laugh that made Georgie like him a little bit even as she picked herself off the floor. The Greenways exchanged a glance and a small smile. "Can you do that again?" Mr. Greenway asked.

"Do it again?" Georgie exclaimed. "It was enough of a fright the first--"

"Of course she can, sir, she's a trained clown and my personal assistant," Simms overrode her. "Just didn't see you were interested in a double-act."

"Oh, no, that's excellent," Mrs. Greenway said, standing smoothly. "You'll start tonight, of course. Be in the back by seven, curtain at eight. Do that shoe thing again at the end of your set, it'll be perfect."

Georgie nodded, then started over toward Colonel Mayfair, but the Greenways swept over to him, waited for him to stand, then walked with him up toward the office at the back of the theater. Georgie watched as they herded him through the door and shut it, tight, behind them.

"Hey, there," Heidi called. "Are you working on the tables or not?"

"I think I've been promoted," Georgie said. "I'm going to find our dressing room, bye!"

There was a hallway on either side of the stage. The one on the left side ran to the office and back to the backstage area, and the one on the right led out to the front of the building. Georgie went back to the left side and frowned at the office. The lighting box up in the back had to be accessed through the office, because there looked like no other way to get in. Which was odd.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she jumped a mile.

"Come on, assistant," Simms said brightly. "Best look out and not get caught nosing about where we're not wanted."

"Not getting caught's what I'm good at," Georgie said. "What do you suppose they want kept secret in the lighting booth? They're all shut up in the office, and I don't think there's another way back there."

"Can't think of a thing," Simms said. "Quick, let's not upset the management."

* * *

"So you couldn't get a word in with the colonel?" Mickey asked as they shared a cup of tea in the shop across the street.

"Not a syllable," Georgie said. "Every time we got close, the Greenways would swoop in and shuffle him off."

Mickey scowled into her tea. "I'm starting to dislike these people, and I haven't even met them yet."

"There does seem to be something sinister about them," Simms agreed.

"Well, I want to get into that office," Georgie said. "Simms, you distract them this afternoon while I sneak in."

Simms frowned at her. "And how exactly am I meant to do that?"

"I don't know, juggle or something?" Georgie stood up and smiled at Mickey. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck!" Mickey called after her as she trotted back towards the theater.

* * *

Georgie didn't have a chance to sneak in, though, before the show. And then she was backstage with Simms, who was making brash pronouncements about first-night jitters and giving her last-minute tips on clowning.

"Do you know who I saw in the audience?" Georgie said, bursting with energy after one of her trips up to check if the office was abandoned. "Dagny Greer!"

"And who is that?"

"Oh, she's in all the society pages. Very fashionable. She inherited a smelting operation, and everyone expected her to be rubbish at it, but she's got the business smarts, too." Georgie flicked at tiny pieces of lint on her skirt. "You'll see her soon, she's right up front, in a wowza of a gown."

"Mmm, well, I will keep an eye out for this 'wowza'," Simms said.

And all too soon, the lights went down, the floods went up, and they were on. Simms was on, mostly. Georgie couldn't see much beyond the first row of tables, but Simms was getting a lot more laughs than he had at his audition. She mainly had to play straight man, look appalled at his lecherous faces, and smile brightly at the right time. It was easy to do that and think at the same time.

But she was thinking too hard, or fretting too much about Mickey, and she almost missed her cue. She threw herself into the fall with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, and her shoe went flying into the air, just as they'd planned it.

And from her perspective smashed against the boards, she could hear the audience gasp and start laughing, and she could see a beam of red light blipping in and out from the lighting booth in the back, cutting straight through the cigarette smoke over the tables, and lighting up the ashtray on Dagny Greer's table in repetitive glowing patterns.

* * *

After the show the three of them took the car back to Adam's flat. Georgie hoped that Adam would be back and at least give them some good news on his investigation, but the place was cold and empty. She flopped onto the uncomfortable Victorian sofa in his sitting room with a sigh.

Simms cleared his throat pointedly at her.

"Oh, what?" she asked. "Go and get us some tea, and let's have a think about all this."

"Mr. Adamant is not at home," Simms said even more pointedly.

"I noticed," Georgie said, throwing her arms out. "So?"

Simms sighed. "I'll put together a late repast for us in the kitchen."

"Oh, come on, Simms, why can't we sit out here?"

"Because Mr. Adamant is not at home," Simms said, and swept into the kitchen. Mickey shrugged and followed him. Georgie gave herself permission to pout for a few seconds before following.

The kitchen was warmer and brighter, anyway. Simms set out the teacups and asked, "Miss Jones, can you fetch the teapot?"

"Ah, ah, I'm not a waitress any more, I'm an actress," Georgie pointed out.

"Then act useful," Simms said, "And fetch the teapot."

"So," Mickey said carefully, "What happened in there?"

Georgie handed the teapot to Simms and pressed her hands on the table. "Well, I don't know what's happening, but there's something going on at that theater. They won't let anyone in the lighting booth, the only way in is through the office, and during the show they shot this beam of red light down and lit up Dagny Greer's ashtray!"

Mickey blinked a few times. "Slow down. Who's Dagny Greer?"

"A wealthy socialite with a smelting business," Simms said. "Er, according to Miss Jones, that is. I don't know the woman, myself."

"And she was sitting in the front row," Georgie said, "and it was like there was a line drawn, very thin, in red light, and it lit up the ashtray in front of her! It was blinking a lot and it was actually kind of distracting."

Mickey frowned. "That sounds like an optical maser."

"An optical what?" Georgie asked.

"A maser," Mickey said. "Microwave Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. It's a way to send signals through microwaves and radio waves and make them stronger."

Georgie shook her head. "But this was light, not radio waves."

"Well, that's why I said optical maser. See, when you have a normal light source, like a flashlight--"

"A what?" Simms asked.

"You mean a torch," Georgie clarified.

Mickey rolled her eyes. "Yes, fine, a torch, the light goes out in all directions from the bulb. Even if you've got walls around it, it doesn't make a precise beam. Now, an optical maser, or a laser--"

"Oh, a laser beam!" Georgie exclaimed. "Like in Goldfinger with Sean Connery tied to the table."

Mickey didn't look happy about that. "Well... real lasers don't do that."

"This one didn't cut through anything, though, it just made lights."

"That's right," Mickey said. "It's a beam of light, it's not hot enough to burn anything. It's just like shining a flashlight--"

"Torch," Georgie corrected.

"See, when you say 'torch', I think 'burning things,'" Mickey said. "So that would actually hurt more than a laser beam."

"But what would someone be doing with a laser beam in the middle of the show?" Simms said. "Besides being deuced annoying and flashing red blips in the middle of my act."

"I don't know, but I'll bet the answer's in that control room," Georgie said. "And tomorrow we'll get to the bottom of it."

* * *

Two things happened the next morning. One was that in the morning paper was the shocking news that Dagny Greer had made out a new will and then hanged herself.

"And look at this!" Georgie exclaimed as she, Mickey, and Simms shared breakfast in Adam's kitchen. "The bulk of her estate was left to the Greenway Arts Consortium, overseen by Mr. and Mrs. Walter Greenway. Those snakes!"

And the second one was that Simms and Georgie were given their notice.

"After only one show? You can't do this! We have a contract!" Simms protested.

"We don't feel you're a good fit for our dinner theater," Mrs. Greenway said. Her lips were pulled in a permanent small frown, as though she were constantly just slightly disappointed with the world. "You can collect your things from your dressing room."

Simms traded a glance with Georgie. Georgie nodded back. This was their last chance.

"I must SERIOUSLY protest!" Simms said, stepping in Mrs. Greenway's way as Georgie slipped back into the hallway. It was the one leading out front, so she'd have to all the way backstage to get back to the office, but it did let her dart out to the foyer and wave at Mickey across the street.

Mickey dashed across and into the building. "What's going on?"

"Quick, while Simms is distracting her. Come on!"

They raced around the backstage, Simms' bombastic oratory filling the room. "A contract is a sacred bond between employer and employee, and you had no right to promise me payment through the end of the month if you fully intended to cut me off after one night!"

"If you failed to live up to your end of the bargain..." came a male voice. Georgie sighed in happiness. If Simms had got both the Greenways locked up they were safe. She led Mickey into the left hallway, up the short staircase, and opened the office door.

It was dark. They tiptoed inside and shut the door behind them. The place was clean, but there was an open file cabinet behind the desk that Georgie's curiosity couldn't let her leave alone. She pulled the drawer open and squinted at the names on the files.

"Hey, that's Dagny Greer's name," Mickey said, pointing at one.

Georgie pulled it out. Inside, instead of newspaper clippings or receipts or typed pages or anything Georgie could have begun to expect, there was a stack of punched-hole cards, numbered carefully in pencil at the corner.

"It's a computer program," Mickey said. "Why is there a computer program with that woman's name on it?"

Georgie shook her head and put the punch-cards back. The next file down was for Alexander Kane. "Hey, isn't he that diamond bigshot who committed suicide last week?" Georgie asked.

"I wouldn't know," Mickey said, pulling out the file. "But there's another set of punch-cards in here."

"And Harry Morgen," Georgie said. "He had some kind of export business and they found him in his flat shot to death, twice. They said it was self-inflicted but I never bought that."

"All these people killed themselves," Mickey said, "Or... Georgie, I think I know what those computer programs are for."

"Very perceptive," Mrs. Greenway said from the doorway.

Georgie and Mickey turned around, slowly. Mrs. Greenway was standing there with a pistol leveled at them, cool as a cucumber. "Well, ladies. I think you'll be joining our other guest in the basement."

* * *

"I am very disappointed in you, Miss Jones," was the first thing Adam Adamant said to her when the Greenways left her tied up next to him.

"Oh, thanks," she said. "Not even 'good work solving the mystery'?"

"Solving the mystery does no-one any good if you get yourself killed in doing so," Adam said primly.

Georgie gave him a look.

Adam cleared his throat and continued, "and you've put this young lady, miss..."

"Mickey Nakamura," Mickey supplied.

Adam blinked. "Miss Nakamura. I... pardon me, but that's not a traditional Japanese name, is it?"

"It's a traditional American nickname," Mickey said.

"Ah, yes, I see. Tell me, how did you get involved in this, you poor girl?"

The three of them were tied to chairs leaning against the wall of the prop room in the basement of the theater. Georgie was in the middle, so Adam didn't see the look of bemusement that Mickey gave her. "Is he always like this?" Mickey asked.

"Oh, always," Georgie said.

"To answer your question, Mr. Adamant, I was trying to find Colonel Mayfair," Mickey said. "He owed my father a debt after my father saved his life in the war."

"Ah," Adam said. "And this happened in the Pacific Theater, then?"

Mickey shook her head and sighed. "No, he was in the Four-Four-Two, fighting the Axis in Italy. He took out a pillbox that had Colonel Mayfair's company pinned down."

"Oh," Adam said after a moment. "He sounds like a man of honor and distinction, your father."

"I've always thought so," Mickey said.

"Look, I'm sure your dad's great, and I want to hear all about him when we get out of here," Georgie said, "But what are we going to do about those computer programs and that laser?"

"You'll do nothing," Mrs. Greenway said from the stairway.

Mrs. Greenway and her husband came down the staircase slowly. She was carrying a large briefcase, and he was laying down a long cable which ran all the way up the stairs. Mrs. Greenway put the briefcase down on a table and opened it.

Georgie craned her neck to look inside. It was a silvery box which didn't look anything like the laser in Goldfinger, but the way Mickey gasped let her know what it was.

"Now it'll take us longer to create programs for you two scheming little girls," Mrs. Greenway said. "But we've been observing Mr. Adamant for some time, and _his_ programming is quite up to date."

"You've been using Colonel Mayfair's theater to make people kill themselves so you can pocket their money!" Georgie shouted accusingly.

Mrs. Greenway paused and traded a look with her husband. "Yes?" she asked. "I'm sorry, was that not clear?"

Georgie opened her mouth, then closed it. "Well, it was, yes," she said, "but usually when there's something else going on, accusing someone of simple fraud and murder gets them to start going on about it."

"Simple!" Mrs. Greenway laughed. "There's nothing _simple_ about this. Take the laser, for instance. This is a state-of-the-art device that broadcasts _continuously_ in the visible spectrum." She paused, waiting for some kind of reaction.

"Sorry, I'm not a laser scientist," Georgie said.

"I know not what moves the foul machine you've used to poison those men's minds," Adam said with wounded dignity, "Only that I am sworn to stop you with every fiber of my being."

Mickey cleared her throat. "Actually, I'm kind of impressed."

"THANK you," Mrs. Greenway said, exasperated. "We create the pulses with a signal generated by the computer. We code it precisely for the psychology of each of our... special guests." She pointed at Adam. "Since we're not interested in Mr. Adamant's money, _his_ program is going to be quite different."

"It's all hooked up, dear," Mr. Greenway said from behind her.

"There is no method," Adam said, "That you will be able to use to prize open my brain, madam. Better men have tried."

"Better women?" Mrs. Greenway asked archly. "I wrote the program myself."

"Why bother with the program?" Georgie said. "Seems like you did pretty well bopping him on the head and shoving him into the basement."

Adam sniffed. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Miss Jones."

"Because the thought of having Adam Adamant as my very own programmable killing machine is too good to pass up," Mrs. Greenway said. "And if he gets caught, well, everyone will just expect his temperament has gotten too much of a shock from the wild excesses of our modern era. Terrible thing, time. Go throw the switch, dearest."

Mr. Greenway darted out the door. Mrs. Greenway set a small glass globe on the table, then turned on the laser. It hummed for a moment, then a beam of red light snapped into existence and the globe lit up like a harbor signal.

"That's really good," Georgie said. Surreptitiously, she started to work at the knots on her wrists. "You know you could do shop displays with that. Or lights at Christmas."

"This is a hundred-killowatt helium-neon gas laser," Mrs. Greenway said. It sounded as though she were about to start grinding her teeth together. "It is not a toy."

"Wait," Mickey said, "I thought that helium-neon lasers were infrared?"

"You're up on the literature," Mrs. Greenway said, grudgingly impressed.

Mickey shrugged, as well as she could in her chair. "I try. Can you show me how you got the frequency fixed?"

For a moment, Mrs. Greenway almost looked as though she'd disassemble the laser right there to show off her beloved device. Then she scowled and looked up the stairs. "What could be keeping Walter?"

Adam braced his feet on the floor and then launched himself, chair and all, directly at Mrs. Greenway. The woman shrieked but didn't fall at the impact, but the distraction was all Georgie needed to slip her hands from the knots and pull the rope out of its tie. She slung the cord around Mrs. Greenway's upper body and arms and held tight.

"Oh! Help!" Mrs. Greenway shouted. "Walter!"

Instead of Mr. Greenway's answer, there was the sound of measured bootsteps coming down the stairs, and then Simms called out,

"There once was a spark from East Surrey  
Who lay cable in such a great hurry  
When he touched a live wire  
The house smoked and caught fire  
And the resident mice had to scurry."

He walked the rest of the way into the basement room, grinned at Mrs. Greenway, and held up the other end of the cable. "I'm afraid I took the liberty of disconnecting the computer."

Mrs. Greenway struggled, and Georgie held on tighter. After a moment, though, the murderess' frame slumped and she fell to the ground. "Where is Walter?" she asked softly.

"In the capable hands of one Colonel Mayfair," Simms said. "I managed to rouse him from the fugue state you put him in with some songs from his time in the field. Can never do without some derring-do, you know." He raised his voice and began to sing, "We'll meet again by lantern-shine..."

"Thank you, Simms," Adam said dryly, rolling onto his side. "But perhaps you could give me a hand with the knots?"

"Very good, sir," Simms said, conciliatory. "I say, Miss Nakamura, are you all right?"

Georgie turned and craned her neck until she could see Mickey, who had scooted her chair over to the table and had one foot raised as though to kick out one of the legs. She looked sheepish and put her foot back down. "I wanted to take the laser out of commission," she said, "but I just couldn't bring myself to destroy it."

Simms helped Adam out of his bonds and then the two of them used the rope to tie Mrs. Greenway up. Georgie went and got Mickey free as Colonel Mayfair pushed an unhappy Mr. Greenway into the basement.

"Colonel!" Mickey said. "I've been trying to speak to you."

"I say," the colonel said, "Is that little Miko Nakamura? Your father had a picture of you and your mum he carried everywhere. Said it was his good-luck charm. I guess you must be mine as well! Look at you, you're the spitting image."

Mickey blushed. "Thank you, colonel. I've come about my father's business--"

"Of course, dear, of course you have! I gave Sergeant Nakamura my word that he could call on me any time, didn't I? Let's get these two over to the authorities and you can tell me the whole story."

Georgie took a look at Adam and then at Simms. "Satisfactory ending to everything?"

"I do think so, Miss Jones," Mr. Adamant said.

"Yes indeed," Simms said. "We have two criminals, multiple witnesses, and can charge them for assault, murder, and most importantly, breach of contract."

* * *

"So did everything work out with Colonel Mayfair?" Adam asked Mickey over tea the next morning. Mr. Adamant had invited her and the colonel over, but Mayfair had to tie up a bunch of loose ends now that he'd gotten his life back from the insidious influence of the Greenways, so it was just her and Georgie and Adam, and Simms happily serving tea and dusting the knickknacks in domestic bliss.

"Everything's worked out wonderfully," Mickey answered. "Thank you so much for your help."

"Well, I certainly can't take the credit," Adam said graciously. "You can blame Miss Jones' talent for getting herself into trouble and dragging everyone else along with her."

"Oh, I do," Mickey said, grinning.

"Well," Simms said as he poured Georgie another cup of tea. "I hope you have a safe journey back to the States, Miss Nakamura."

"Thank you, Simms." Mickey took a sip of tea, then put her cup down and said, "Hey, try this one on for size:  
There once was a nisei from Fresno  
Who developed a new laser light show  
With photons coherent  
And musicians that weren't  
She filled beer halls from Stockton to Kelso."

Georgie clapped her hands. Simms looked slightly put out. "Well, it has its place for a rarefied audience, I suppose," he said, "but it'd be hard to take it on the road."

"Oh, phooey," Mickey said, smiling. "They'd eat that one up at Lawrence-Livermore."

"Well, Simms," Georgie said, putting down her own cup, "What about our act?"

Adam paused in the act of buttering a scone, looked over at Georgie with a nervous expression, then looked up at Simms. "Your... act?"

"Miss Jones and I have a double-act, sir. I rather thought we'd take it on the road."

Mr. Adamant looked... discomfited, to say the least. "On the road?"

"We'll play only the best music-halls," Georgie said slyly. "I thought we should do a sort of Punch and Judy send-up, only of course I'd play Punch."

"I'll put my hair in curls and sing Gracie Fields," Simms offered.

Adam looked back and forth between them again, then visibly decided they were joking and smiled. "Well, if this is your wish, I can do nothing less than offer my financial and personal support," he said.

"Oh, we've got that covered," Georgie said.

"Yes, Colonel Mayfair offered us a contract," Simms said. "He liked our act at his dinner theater so much he decided to book us."

At Adam's stricken look Georgie burst out laughing. "Oh, Mr. Adamant," she said. "As if you could get rid of me that easily. You need me! Look at how I got Simms to help me solve this case for you."

"Well, I can say one thing," Adam said, picking up his tea again. "Your responsibilities as an actress would certainly keep you out of trouble."

Simms sighed. "Spoken like a true gentleman, sir," he said. "One who hasn't spent any time in the company of actors."


End file.
